


Oh Death, where is your sting?

by DreamingStarkly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Biting, Canon Universe, Dominant Dean, Impact Play, M/M, Mention of past trauma, Praise Kink, Service Kink, Slow Build, Submissive Castiel, dom!Dean, sub!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingStarkly/pseuds/DreamingStarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with Castiel agreeing to clean the Impala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Death, where is your sting?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot fic. It has D/s, BDSM elements and includes descriptions of aftercare. I have about three years experience as a Domme, so I am drawing from my personal experience. Everyone has different kinks and healthy ways of dealing with scenes, but always remember SAFE SANE CONSENSUAL. I try to keep that as clear as possible here.
> 
> Title inspiration: Oh Death by Noah Gunderson  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dxN70OTYBnw

 

 

_Nevada. Summer of 2002._

 

“So what about you, Officer? Do you like to keep control or lose it?”

“Depends on the person,” Dean grinned. The Lady hummed appreciatively.

“Well, I have plenty of boys and girls and Masters and Mistresses,” she told him, waving her hand at the black door that led into the deeper bowels of the House. “I promise, by the end of the night you _will_ know what kind of position you prefer.”

“That sounds, uh, great. But I really do need to focus on Mark’s disappearance,” he told her. And sure, it did pique his interest. BDSM porn didn’t really have the same impact as sitting in front of a woman who lived it 24/7. The young, meek man who had taken his coat and served him his coffee was hot as hell, too.

The owner of the House inspected him.

“Of course,” she nodded. “But don’t be scared of balancing play and work.”

“Conflict of interest,” Dean pointed out, determined to keep to the book on this one. Well, the imagined book that he would ignore as soon as he fished out what monster snapped Mark up.

“Take this as a free crash course then,” she smiled, her dark lips twisting in amusement. “You seem like the kind of man who wants to know more. And I’m certain it will help you get into the mindset of my former client.”

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek. Research, right? And hey, if it diversified his spank bank portfolio, what was the harm?

“Alright,” Dean agreed, setting aside his notepad and leaning back into the chair. “Enlighten me on Master Mark’s kinky nature.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Kansas. Fall of 2014._

 

It started with Castiel agreeing to clean the Impala.

Late October had given the Kansas wind a sharp edge and the bunker’s pipes an irritating rattling noise just behind the wall above the faucet in the kitchen. Sam was already elbows deep in some part of the Men of Letters’ archive, so Dean placed it upon himself to figure out what was wrong with the sink.

Cas had been ghosting around the place lately, helping Sam with organizing the case files and taking long walks into the woods. After they managed to send the angels back to heaven, and Cas chose to remain behind, the year-old human was a great deal more agitated than usual. Well, maybe not agitated. More like restless. He made a whole list of projects for himself, usually centered around accomplishing basic human tasks like booting up a computer or the finer aspects of ironing his suit. Driving was strictly off the table for now ever since the VW Beetle and McDonalds incident.

The guy was etching out a place in the world, and Dean was content with letting that unfold naturally. As long as he hung around, Dean was beginning to be happy just to watch that happen. Cas was just Cas, with amendments.

Honestly, Dean wasn’t really too surprised that Cas still managed to sneak up on him even without his mojo. Dean still refused to acknowledge the fact that sitting up to catch Castiel standing about two feet away gave him a mini heart attack. Every. Damn. Time.

“How long’ve you been standing there?” Dean asked in what he thought was an off-handed way, but was about half an octave too high. His friend shrugged.

“Approximately ten minutes,” Cas answered. Dean was still trying to figure out when the guy was being deadpan. “Do you need help?”

“Nah, man,” Dean replied, reclining back under the sink. “Can barely fit me under here, anyway.”

Cas hummed in acknowledgement. But after a while of silence and no footsteps leading out of the kitchen, Dean sighed.

“Do _you_ need help with something?” he asked, leaning up onto his elbow to glare pointedly at him.

“No,” Cas answered. “I did everything I needed to do today.”

Dean stared at him. “Okay then. Go watch TV.”

Castiel frowned. “I’ve done that. House Hunters International had a marathon.”

“Read a book?”

“I finished _The History of Time_ about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well it’s creepin’ me out, you just standing here watching me.” Obviously this revelation didn’t faze Cas, because the former angel just looked at him in irritated discontent. As if _Dean_ was the one interrupting his work.

“What do you suggest I do?” Castiel asked, almost petulantly. Dean groaned and laid back down to focus on the tubes running through the back of the wall and up into the sink. The rattling had been caused by a loose socket.

“The Impala needs detailing and a tire rotation,” Dean suggested flippantly as he focused on _not_ having the sink fall on his head, using the kind of dismissive tone that usually had Sam rolling his eyes. He assumed that, with no response from Cas, the guy had given up and gone off to bug Sam. At least until he realized the Pink Floyd that had been wailing through the walls for the past hour was coming from the radio in the front of the bunker. Where he knew the old hose was. And where Baby was parked.

The sky was bright when Dean walked outside, and Castiel was wearing a bleach-stained black shirt and swimming trunks. It was also _freezing_ , but the black-haired man didn’t seem to care. He was currently halfway through scrubbing the muck off of Baby’s right front tire. Suds clung to the hair on his calves.

“You start the tire rotation before you know what the fuck you’re doing, I _will_ confiscate all of your favorite books,” Dean warned.

“I hadn’t planned on attempting a tire rotation until then,” Cas said, absently swiping the cloth over the now-shining rims.

Dean cleared his throat and shifted to his other foot. “I was joking, you know,” he pointed out. “I didn’t actually expect you to clean my car.”

“I know,” Cas replied simply, shooting him a small smirk before moving on to the left tire. Dean could only see the top of his head from where he was kneeling. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me?” Castiel asked bluntly, and Dean refused to flush.

“This is my car,” Dean stated. “I want to make sure it’s done right.” He half expected Cas to keep teasing him about it, but he just nodded solemnly and went back to work. Dean found himself enjoying the way that Cas seemed utterly enthused by the task. If Dean was any kind of crazy, he would even call Cas’s performative movements _preening_. Every once in a while the guy would shoot this _look_ at Dean. Dean—at a loss to do anything else—automatically responded with a direction or advice, and Cas would augment his actions accordingly.

It was _bizarre_ , but deeply calming at the same time. Cas seemed to be enjoying the occupation, so who was Dean to argue? Plus Baby was looking damn fine in no time.

“See how she’s shinin’?” Dean moaned, palming the Impala’s hood. He stood back and clapped Castiel on the shoulder. They admired her together.

Finally, as the wind began to pick up, Dean helped Cas place the tarp over her.

“Good work, Cas,” Dean grinned, hooking the bungee cord into place. Cas replied with a soft smile that made his face look eons younger. That night, Dean would stare up at his ceiling and wonder at the look of sincere contentment Cas would sport the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t stop at the car. About three days later, Dean padded blearily into the kitchen at six in the morning and was promptly gifted with a steaming mug of coffee. He stuttered a half-awake thanks just as Castiel left to parts unknown in the bowels of the bunker. He took a sip and noted that it wasn’t too hot or too cold. The fact that Cas managed to guess the exact time he would be up versus how long the coffee would have to sit to cool off should have unnerved him, but Dean couldn’t help but feel anything but gratitude.

The next morning was the same, and _that_ made Dean suspicious. On the third morning, Dean almost made a comment on how he could make his own friggin’ coffee. He knew Cas hated mornings, and had previously refused to be conscious before 8am. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Castiel had been markedly calmer the past two days. So, okay. Fine. Maybe getting up early was Cas’s new project. If it meant easing some of the pent-up tension in the former angel’s shoulders, more power to him.

And if it got Dean his caffeine fix first thing, even better.

After a week, Cas began to get creative. One morning Dean found his coffee sweeter than usual. The next day it was tinged light with vanilla creamer. Then it was this weird Colombian roast Cas had found at that farmer’s market Sam loved so much with half-n-half. Dean appreciated the effort to expand his coffee experience, but finally he put his foot down. Once Dean sternly explained his preference for bittersweet and dairy-less morning drinks, Cas made sure to make it right every time.

In the deep, dark areas of his mind, he _knew_ he was getting off on it. It brought back memories of that short stint in Vegas with that dominatrix back when Sam was at Stanford. Turned out she was a vamp, but she managed to show Dean a few tricks before he beheaded her. Things about creating submission and taking charge. About service.

Of course, this was different, he told himself. Dean refused to dwell on the memory and the questions it presented. There was no bloodletting. No sex. Just coffee.

Inevitably, Sam thought it would be a good idea to make mention of Castiel’s newfound habit.

“You Dean’s personal servant now?” he grinned over his laptop after Cas handed Dean his coffee one morning after an overnight cram session. Dean was about to snap at his brother, but Cas beat him to it.

“I would be happy to get you coffee, too, Sam,” Cas replied evenly. “If you asked nicely.”

Dean choked on his first swallow. Sam rolled his eyes, but noted how Cas had glanced at Dean in that deference kind of way he always did.

“Never mind,” he muttered.

He didn’t bring it up again, having stored this quirk along with all the other unspoken things between his brother and the fallen angel.

Truthfully, the coffee thing would have been fine on its own. When Dean got up earlier than usual to spontaneously reciprocate one morning, Cas was thrown off and anxious the rest of the day. So he settled into the expectation of having a perfectly brewed and cooled coffee every morning. In fact, it was awesome once Dean got over the discomfort of someone taking over that single daily ritual.

The problem started to show itself when he found his clothes folded on top of the dryer. And then when his grilled cheese managed to flip itself when he left the kitchen for two minutes. Dean wasn’t sure whether he should be pleased or concerned, because who _does_ that? He was uncomfortable, that was certain. The last straw came late one night when he and Sam returned from a hunt in South Dakota. Sam had insisted they stop at a motel overnight, but Dean was more interested in resting his aching back into his own mattress.

Castiel had decided to take a salt ‘n burn about three counties over with Charlie, and called them (Dean) earlier that afternoon to say that he was back at the bunker. Dean was glad that the guy was getting more settled into their lifestyle. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t worried about his two favorite non-blood-related people going out on a hunting trip without him. In fact, he couldn’t dislodge the tight ball of fear in-between phone calls.

Okay, maybe that was another reason why he wanted to be home ASAP.

“We’re back,” Dean hollered as soon as he shoved open the front door. There was no answer, but Cas could be anywhere. Sound didn’t carry well through the labyrinthine hallways. Or he could be sleeping; it _was_ two-thirty in the morning.

“I’m gonna put the books away and then I’m passing out,” Sam told him, patting him once on the shoulder before moving towards the study.

Dean went to the laundry room to throw down his duffel and then went over to his room. Cleaning clothes could wait four hours. He stripped off his jacket as he walked down the hallway to his room. He passed Cas’s door, which was closed. No light seeped from under the frame, so Dean guessed he was sleeping. His door, however, was ajar. And the light was on. Frowning—because he _always_ turned the light off when he left his room—Dean quickened his pace and pushed the door open. And revealed Castiel making his bed.

His mouth worked in confusion for a few seconds, and only came up with a sharp, “Dude!”

Castiel looked up from his hospital corner, startled.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean blinked rapidly and waved his hand wildly at the rearranged bookshelf and newly-dusted guns. “What the hell?”

“I thought you would be back in the morning—”

“Stop!” Dean demanded. Cas tensed and straightened, taking a step away from the bed.

This had gone too far. Dean had _let_ it go too far. He was so blinded by the happy-go-lucky Cas and had equated it with him doing things for Dean so he let it pass. He let it happen, because fuck. He sort of liked it. He did. It brought him back to that vision of the barefoot man who averted his eyes and smiled when he took his coat in Vegas. And if that wasn’t completely fucked up…

“Dean...” Cas started.

“What is this?” Dean asked, partially to himself. “Why are you letting me take advantage of you?”

“You aren’t,” Cas denied. “I am choosing to do these things.”

“Why? Why do you think you need to make coffee for me?” Dean asked, the fear and bitterness clogging his chest. “Because if this is some sort of payback situation, I don’t want it.”

“ _No_ , Dean. I was _bored_. I'm not used to...boredom,” Cas explained heatedly. “Not knowing what to do has an unpleasant feeling to it, as does doing nothing. If I am going to exist, I want to act, and if I am going to act then I want to act in a useful manner.”

Dean scoffed. “You don’t have to be useful to exist, Cas. I just like the fact you exist.” Cas fidgeted at the confession, and Dean almost did, too. But then what was the use of pointing it out? So he steeled himself to the honesty and charged on. “I mean it. I can’t say I mind you picking up some of my slack—”

Castiel seemed to puff up in anger. “I am—”

Dean plowed through“—but I don’t want you doin’ it because you think you have to be some sort of lackey in House Winchester.” Castiel’s mouth twisted, like he was furious.

“I do it for you, Dean,” Cas barked. “I do it because you are surprised by kindness. I do it because you smile when I hand you your coffee. Every time.” Dean blinked, and something warm burst deep in his chest. Apparently the shock was clear on his face, because Cas took a step back and softened his expression.

Dean realized he didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to sacrifice his own cornerstone of stability with Cas and he didn’t want Cas to feel like he couldn’t turn to Dean when he was about to go stir crazy.

“Okay.” Cas waited for his decision. “Okay, how about this. You only do the tasks, favors, whatever...that I ask you to—” Cas opened his mouth, and Dean raised a finger to silence him. “I’m serious! I don’t want you comin’ into my room and messin’ around, hospital corners or no. I haven’t had a shred of privacy since—since, well, ever.” Cas kept waiting, an expectant sort of look on his face. “Alright, fine. And I’ll work on thinking about how this isn’t taking complete advantage of you. Crazy bastard.”

Castiel looked off to the side with a sly smile, apparently satisfied. Dean huffed.

“I’m beat, man. Can I have my room back?”

“Of course,” Cas replied, moving towards the door. Before he got to the handle, however, Dean snagged his sleeve.

“You can come to me when you’re bored,” Dean told him with a crooked grin. “There’s always something to get done ‘round here.”

Cas’s expression didn’t change, was blank as ever. But he raised his arm to clasp his hand on Dean’s forearm before leaving, warm and accepting.

There was definitely a shift in their dynamic after that. Castiel no longer did things for Dean without asking. It actually took a lot for Cas to ask—he had a good idea of how to occupy his own time—but every once in a while he would show up and Dean would have to rack his brain for a task.

Dean does a lot of his own work. He’d feel like crap if he delegated every little responsibility to Cas. But occasionally he would find himself not having time to start his shower or get the car heater running as the temperature dropped and he had to do some last-minute packing. If he notices that Cas isn’t occupied, he takes a breath and calls, “Castiel.” And just like that, Cas would snap to attention. It became routine, normal.

He would praise him, because Dean starts to catch on that if he says more than just thanks, if he truly inspects Cas’s work and deems it honestly good—Cas gets this blissed-out look on his face. If he makes a mistake, Dean gets him to repeat the process manually. When there is no time to fix the problem, when Cas mistakes cartridges and nearly kills himself, Dean tells Cas that when they get back from the hunt, they are going to go through the process until Cas gets it right and is as familiar with their armory as Dean is.

Sometimes Cas gets stubborn, lashing out when he does something wrong. In those moments—when Cas shrinks a sweater and simply tosses it into the trash without letting Dean explain why it happened—he gets the urge to tie him down. To shove his face into the details until he _listened_. And it’s those thoughts that scared the shit out of Dean. It’s that sadistic edge that forced Dean to remind himself that Hell was still there...simmering just under his skin.

Then there was the heat. Dean liked to watch Cas work on projects that _he_ designated for the guy, he couldn’t deny that one bit. He couldn’t help that Cas would drag out folding clothes when Dean was in the room, meditatively smoothing the creases of cotton shirts and jeans. It was completely possible that he folded clothes like that without Dean around, but there was a marked difference of quality when Dean was too busy coordinating hunts or working on the Impala to watch over Cas.

Not to mention that he had to take a cold shower every time he did. He should have expected an escalation sooner or later.

A ghoul nearly dislocated his shoulder two weeks into December. The whiskey took the edge off the pain, but the next day had Dean nearly biting clear through his lip when he was pulling on his shirt. He downed ibuprofen like a champ. He stayed away from the alcohol. He could tough it out. He’d definitely had worse.

But that night he woke up aching. Even his memory foam couldn’t alleviate the soreness. He padded into the living room, rotating his right arm gingerly, hoping the bloodflow would ease the pain. He found Cas sitting on the couch with a book open on his lap. The guy looked up as he approached and slumped down beside him.

“You’re in pain,” Cas stated after a few seconds of Dean shifting around.

“Yeah. Happens when you get thrown into exposed brick,” he muttered. Cas glared at him. Dean caught on. He sighed.

“Alright, Castiel. Go get a hot water bottle from the second cupboard in the kitchen and fill it,” Dean said. Cas nodded and placed his book to the side before standing and walking out of the room. Dean tried assure himself that this was completely clinical. He focused on the pain in his shoulder instead of the fact that he was asking his friend to play nursemaid. Cas returned a few minutes later with the capped bag and a thin towel. Dean reached out to take it from him, but Cas batted away his hand and settled it against his shoulder, right in the crux of his shoulder blade and upper spine. Dean rolled his eyes, but leaned forward to rest his left elbow on his knee so Cas could rest his arm against his back to keep the bottle in place. Dean’s right arm dangled limp against his side.

“Little higher,” Dean told him. Cas obliged, and Dean closed his eyes. The heat was bliss, and he had to keep from moaning in relief as the pain seeped away. Time seemed to extend with that warmth, and Dean felt his muscles relax. After a while, Cas—stone still the whole time—used his other hand to test the heat of the cooling water bottle and muttered something about refilling it.

“It’s fine,” Dean grunted, but what he really meant was _stay_. And apparently his brain was as addled as his shoulder because he said, “Stay.”

Cas stilled, then placed the bottle on the ground beside his feet. Dean swallowed. He had _really_ liked the weight of Castiel’s arm against his back.

Cas, mind-reader that he was, picked up on the change of attitude. In seconds, Cas’s hands were at his shoulder and...and he was fucking _massaging_ him. It was hesitant and light at first, but as Cas got more familiar with the muscle of Dean’s right shoulder, he continued with gentle confidence. Sparks were going off behind Dean’s eyes and the initial panic dissipated into calm.

 _I hadn’t asked for a massage_ , Dean repeated silently until it caught some sort of traction in his head. Cas did it out of his own volition so it meant that he _wanted_ to do it. He could deal with the implications of that later.

When the ache of his muscle released, he let out a sigh. “That’s good, Cas. Thanks.”

“Can I do anything else for you?” he asked. And _fucking hell_ , the guy shouldn’t be looking at him like that. Dean’s mind immediately went to naked skin and making another kind of demand. He could ask Cas to kiss him, and Dean was partially convinced that Cas would obey. And that—total red fucking light. He backed away from Cas, disgusted at himself for even thinking about making a move on Cas in this situation. What the hell kind of perverted _manipulative_ bastard did that?

Before he could make his escape, though, Cas’s hands were locked onto his shirt and yanking him in the opposite direction. Towards him. And then Castiel’s lips were pressed against his, moving to pull against his lower lip and _what?!_

Dean pulled away almost immediately.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” Dean choked out, trying to keep the panic from overwhelming his ability to speak.

“No, you didn’t,” Cas said purposefully. “But you wanted to. Or am I mistaken?”

Dean’s heart was drumming frantically against his ribs. “But is that what _you_ want?”

“Yes,” he replied with no irony whatsoever. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Dean’s stomach twisted at the suggestion in Cas’s eyes, and the affirmation that just escaped his mouth. There was no reason for Cas to lie. Not now. He didn’t do anything to force Cas to say yes. Dammit, _he_ couldn’t be dishonest either. “Yeah. Yes, but—”

The asshole had the audacity to look relieved. “So?”

The hesitation was there, but Dean shoved it away. It was the first time they’d actually been honest about this...this thing and screw everything to hell if he wasn’t going to take this chance.

So he grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him to his lips. Castiel responded to Dean’s hunger in kind. He nipped and pulled at Dean’s mouth. Dean found himself in Cas’s lap, grounding down on the man’s straining dick, aching for a different kind of release. After a few seconds, Cas pushed against Dean’s hips, trying to dislodge him.

“If Sam walks in…” Cas panted. Dean groaned. Fuck. His brother had the worst timing and wouldn’t it be great if he woke in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. Better move this show somewhere else. “Your room or mine?”

Dean grinned wolfishly. “Mine.”

Their hands didn’t leave each other’s bodies all the way down the hall. Castiel had his hand down the back of Dean’s flannel pants and fuck if that wasn’t the most distracting thing ever. At least until that hand moved to the front of his pants and _shit_. His hands barely maintained their function to twist the door handle to his bedroom. They stumbled through the doorway, mouths and teeth clashing in a fever.

 _This isn’t going to take very long_ , Dean thought as he pushed down his pants. Again, Cas seemed on the same page because he was stripping his own clothes at the speed of light. He only slowed when Dean winced as he tried to take off his shirt. Cas stopped Dean from attempted to wriggle his arm out of his cotton shirt.

“Another time,” Cas said with a smirk. And the background fear that this was a one-time deal disappeared. Dean pressed the now fully nude Cas backwards until they both folded onto his bed.

“You’re so good to me, Cas,” Dean murmured, high as a kite on relief and arousal. He kissed Cas’s neck and scraped his teeth against his adam’s apple. Cas grunted and thrust his hips against Dean’s bare thigh. He kissed across the man’s chest until he kneeled between Cas’s legs. “So good.” Cas moaned as Dean’s left hand grasped his dick. Cas’s fingers dug into Dean’s hip as Dean began to jerk him off. Cas’s other hand reach down between them to take Dean’s erection.

Dean gulped and smashed his lips back onto Cas’s, drinking in his tongue. Eventually hands weren’t enough. He pulled himself flush against Cas, wanting to be closer. He rasped his pleasure and his bad arm shook with the effort of holding himself above the former angel. Cas tightened his grip around Dean’s waist and immediately rolled them. He rutted against Dean. Castiel’s dick slid parallel to his and Dean could barely catch his breath.

When he thought it wouldn’t take long, he was completely right. His orgasm punched through him like a bolt of lightning. He almost laughed on the way down, because Cas was wide-eyed and still panting and humping against him. His dark hair was mussed and dammit if _that_ wasn’t the hottest thing on earth.

So he reached up, mischief tinging his slack lips, and pulled at Cas’s neck. He pressed a sloppy kiss against Cas’s straining mouth. He wanted to break whatever was holding the man back.

“Castiel,” he muttered, letting the weight of Cas’s full name enhance the authority in his voice. “Come on.”

Wide, strong shoulders shuddered and Cas let out a strangled gasp as his hips stuttered and picked up a wild urgency. Dean lifted his own hips to add to the pressure and that was it. Cas managed to avoid Dean’s injured shoulder when he finally collapsed. This time, Dean did laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

It was definitely not the last time, nor was that the norm of their burgeoning sex life. Dean could see how they liked to bring their strange new dynamic into the bedroom. Cas was enthusiastic when it came to sex, but his technique needed a little tweaking. So Dean led and directed him in the art of oral sex like he would when teaching Cas how to change the oil in the Impala. He learned how Cas liked to be touched by ordering him jerk himself off five feet away.

Eventually, Dean began to explore what Cas wanted. What he liked. One night as Cas was shoved against the wall, Dean asked if he was uncomfortable. Cas shook his head, but Dean caught him wincing when he pressed against him again. He pulled them both away and saw that a forgotten nail was sticking out of the wall. It was instinct, Dean told himself, when he smacked Castiel’s ass. Hard, sharp. It shocked the both of them, but Dean shoved down his guilt.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed. Cas blinked at him with something like awe and then the corner of his mouth twitched in a strange kind of amusement before lowering his chin in deference. That night, Dean bit down harder and drew out Castiel’s orgasm longer. Afterwards, Dean murmured praise into Cas’s ear more fervently than ever. Almost to convince himself if anything. But then Cas just smiled and smoothed the strain etched on Dean’s forehead.

He said “I love you” and Dean fell silent, stunned. No more words were exchanged that night, but with Cas smothering Dean with kisses and soft caresses he almost managed to forget his shame.

The next day Cas was abnormally chipper and chatty and had Sam doubled over laughing over some weird angel joke. As if he was _happier_ after last night.

Dean struggled with holding himself back after that. He molded to Cas in the same way Cas molded to him whenever he pulled Cas’s hair too hard, or when he bit Cas’s shoulder when Cas moved against Dean without permission. They didn’t always go at it rough, but when Dean felt Cas pulse heavily against him, inside him, as he hit the firm flesh of his thighs—it was intoxicating.

He told himself that if he pushed Castiel’s boundaries that would be the end of it. If he pushed his own boundaries, that line where he could see slabs and restraints and whips and knives on the other side. No. That was Hell. Dean often got pissed with his fantasies. He should be building a fucking fortress to keep that from entering into this...this really good thing. Not a bridge.

But it didn’t stop. Or rather, Cas refused to let him stop.

Dean stopped trying to look over his shoulder every time Cas was backing him up in a fight. Looking back, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment that he stopped worrying about whether or not Cas listened to what he was saying. Maybe it was when Cas stopped walking out of a “lesson” whenever he got frustrated with his lack of human knowledge. Maybe it was when Cas used other ways to express his dissatisfaction with Dean’s disciplining techniques. Castiel wouldn’t insist on anything, but he _would_ leave belts and cuffs lying around their respective bedrooms every time Dean yelled at him for refusing to fix a mistake on the battlefield or when he was cooking.

He still couldn’t bring himself to think about it. About the possibility of tying Cas down and working him over until that look of contentment came over them both.

It would be too much. It was too close to something much more terrifying.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the dead of winter in Kansas when they both fucked up and it cost someone their life.

Sam was away on a research trip, having warned them not to leave any weird stains by the time he got back. He was still traumatized after finding them in the study. About a day after Sam left, Dean got a call from Krissy. A former classmate—Derek—was stuck in a vampire nest, and the kids weren’t sure how to weed this one out.

It was a trap of course, since said classmate was more interested in his vampire lover than being saved. Cas lost track of the kid when he was supposed to be watching him as Dean tracked down the nest. He found it, and the girl who took Derek. Dean threw his machete before taking note of the kid running towards them. The vamp screamed when the boy collapsed, his throat slashed. Dean barely had a second to think about Benny’s grief over Andrea before the vamp pounced. He swung the blade again and her head rolled.

The ride back to the bunker was silent. Dean could see Cas beating himself up about letting Derek out of his sight. It wasn’t for the last time that Dean selfishly thanked the fact that Cas couldn’t fly out of this one.

When the door was swung shut and bolted behind them and the living room echoed with unspoken guilt and fear and sadness, Dean snapped.

“What the hell happened back there?” Dean demanded. Cas frowned, looked away, and didn’t answer. “Seriously?” Anger sparked in his blood. “Someone died because we weren’t on the same page. A _kid_. So don’t you fucking _dare_ pretend like we don’t need to talk about this.”

Cas clammed up, just like that, and turned to leave the room.

“ _Castiel_ ,” Dean barked, a thin line from losing it completely. The man froze this time, but didn’t look at him. His heart thrummed a violent beat in his chest, and he decided. “Go to my room. Get the cuffs and a belt and kneel by the bed.”

Part of him wished that Cas would scoff, would refuse, and that would be the end of all of this. He had crossed a line with Cas. There would be no more coffee in the morning, or a warm car in winter, or a warm body to hold onto in the middle of the night. Someone who said “I love you” as if he never expected Dean to say it back.

Castiel didn’t move for a good five seconds. And then, slowly, he walked towards the hallway. Towards the bedroom. Dean took a minute to steady himself against the couch and breathe. It was completely possible that Cas was not heading towards Dean’s room, had not agreed to submit himself to whatever punishment Dean was about to take out on him.

 _You’re a fucking idiot,_ he berated himself. He wasn’t about to beat the crap out of his best friend over a mistake. That would be too messed up to comprehend, that would be him giving into that dark side. He promised himself he would never do that. He couldn’t do it.

He inhaled another shaky breath and walked to his room. When he carefully pushed the door open, Dean tried not to think about how unwaveringly proud Cas looked kneeling by the bed. His face was impassive, cold.

“Stand up,” Dean ordered, because he wasn’t about to have this conversation with Cas like this. Cas obeyed, but kept his gaze on the floor. “I’m not gonna do this, Cas.”

Cas frowned and looked up, confused.

“I can’t.” Dean’s voice broke slightly and he swallowed. “I won’t bring the job in here.”

Cas’s forehead smoothed as understanding dawned on his face, and then relief.

“You shouldn’t feel guilt for harming the boy, Dean. I was foolish. He told me he had to relieve himself. He was gone too long, I should have—”

“We didn’t know he’d been bangin’ the vamp,” Dean sighed. “You didn’t know. I don’t blame you for that, but jesus Cas. Don’t just not tell me what happened. Don’t just—”

“Walk away?”

Dean rubbed his face wearily. “You have the right to walk out at any time.”

“You have the right to ask me to stay,” Cas countered. Dean sighed again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sometimes things, hunts, go bad. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

Cas stared at him, curious. “Understood.” And then he started to take his shirt off.

“Whoah, wait. What are you doing?”

He knelt again at the foot of the bed. “You asked me to come in here for a purpose, Dean.”

Dean backed up, terror forming again. Deep in his gut. “I told you, I’m not—”

“No, you’re not going to take out your frustration on me, Dean,” Cas said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That said, you are free to finish this how you wish.”

 _You’re fucking nuts_ , Dean thought, even as his eyes traced the curves of Castiel’s bare shoulders. “You know what I did in Hell,” Dean warned, his throat closing up.

“I trust you, Dean. More than I ever have,” Castiel told him, his gaze calm and piercing. “This is not Hell, it never has and it never will be. You are a good man.” He opened his hands, palms forward. Offering. “I want this. And you want this too.”

He did. _God_ , he did. He wanted the clench and release of Castiel’s muscles when he pulled against his restraints. He wanted Cas’s blown pupils every time Dean bit into his flesh but did not break it. He wanted Cas to beg; that impossible pleading that didn’t ask him to stop, but asked for _more_.

Dean inhaled. He was free to walk away. He could leave and never bring this up again. But the burn of violence still pulsed just under his skin. That would never go away, but maybe. Maybe he could tame it. Control it.

He knew, or at least he hoped, that he wouldn’t let out the monster on Cas.

Dean was careful when he locked the cuffs around Castiel’s wrists. They were made of leather and had sigils etched into them, but they were both human. And they were preferable to metal ones. He kept looking at Cas’s face, looking for any hint of fear or uncertainty. Cas just stared back at him, acceptance and even a bit of excitement the only emotion gracing his expression.

He latched the other ends to the bedposts and stepped back. A chill raised the hair on his arms and the back of his neck as he watched Cas shift slightly and then relax. His head was bowed slightly, complacent. For a second, Dean wished he could remain in this moment forever. Castiel’s broad shoulders were cast in perfect contrast to his submissive position—his back facing Dean. Proud, yet humble. Strong, yet pliant. It made heat curl in Dean’s groin and his heart clench.  

He took the leather belt and let it glide it across Castiel’s shoulders. Cas shivered, having not been told to remain motionless. Dean mouthed the crook of Castiel’s neck and brought the belt down sharply on his right ass cheek. Cas grunted, then sighed.

“ _Yes_.”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you unless it’s your safeword,” Dean murmured into Cas’s ear. “ _Kashmir_. Understand?” Cas licked his lips and nodded. Dean moved to nip lightly again on his neck and landed another smack on Cas’s upper thigh. His muscles contracted and then released.

Dean sat back on his heels and passed one palm over Cas’s spine. Cas pressed backwards and was stopped by his restraints. Dean pulled back his arm and let the belt fly to smack against the thick muscle of Cas’s shoulder. He flinched and groaned. Dean snaked a hand to Cas’s front and reached down. Castiel was already hard.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Dean said before he could stop himself. He traced the path of the belt again, against the skin that was slowly turning pink under his fingertips. “Stand and bend over.”

Cas maneuvered himself so that he was standing with his hands were grasping the top bar of the bedframe. Dean stripped Cas’s blood-stained jeans and underwear from his body. He lingered at Cas’s calves, memorizing the feel of muscle under his hands, following it with kisses as he worked his way up. When he reached the inside the corded muscle of Cas’s right thigh, Dean bit down hard.

Castiel sucked in a hiss, but relaxed again as Dean reach up and palmed his dick. It was leaking, and Dean felt his own erection straining against his jeans. He straightened to standing, roughly squeezing Castiel’s dick until he started panting. He swatted Cas’s butt with the folded belt again, pairing it with a long stroke. Cas’s hips stuttered and he gasped.

“You’re not cumming until I tell you to, got it?” Dean growled. Cas huffed in response, wriggling to shove his dick harder against Dean’s palm. Dean released him and stepped back to make another swipe at Castiel’s back with the belt. Castiel’s spine arched and his knuckles briefly went white against the iron bar of the bedframe, but he didn’t make a sound. Dean immediately moved forward to lick and pepper kisses against his lover’s back. The fear of hurting Cas was disappearing fast at the sounds coming out of Castiel’s mouth.

He alternated jerking Cas off with raising welts against his sun-kissed skin, paling slightly due to the dark winter months. Eventually, the grunts of pain and pleasure became indistinguishable and that’s when Dean moved to the bedside table to bring out the lube and the condom. He placed both on the sheets and then moved to release Cas of his restraints. He had not cum yet due to Dean’s careful timing, but his eyes had this dazed look that followed Dean’s every movement and guidance.

Cas didn’t move until Dean pulled the free man into his arms. Then Cas groaned and shoved his hands under Dean’s shirt, ripping it off, barely missing a second of locking lips. Dean panted against his mouth, pressing his still-clothed dick against Cas’s bare thigh. God, he wanted Cas. He wanted to disappear inside of him, he wanted to stay in this plateau where he knew who he was and who Cas was. He wanted to stay in the place where everything was so goddamn _clear_. He knew what he wanted and what Cas wanted and could give and get and he knew, god he finally _knew…_

“I love you,” Dean moaned, his hands in Cas’s short hair.

Cas’s hands went to his face and their kisses became urgent and drawn out. They fell against the mattress and together they kicked off Dean’s jeans. Dean pinned Cas down with his legs as he reached over for the lube. He moved down and squirted a hefty amount onto his fingers. He liked how Cas kept trying to grip his leaking dick, and Dean bit the inside of Cas’s thigh for his efforts. Getting the point, Cas just groaned in frustration. Dean kissed the mark and then gently sucked a little higher as he began to rub the lube against Cas’s asshole.

It took him less and less time to ready Cas now that they’d been doing this for a few weeks. But it was still just as astounding to hear the high pitched whine from the man who had saved him from monsters for years. Cas wasn’t allowed to speak, so he talked with his hands turning into claws in the sheets when Dean scissored him open. Finally, when Dean could tell that Cas was about to either kick his ass or sob, Dean moved back up to capture the sounds with his tongue. He reached over for the condom and ripped the packet open. Cas grabbed his wrist, an unspoken request. Dean nodded, allowing it.

Castiel pinched the top of the condom and rolled it down Dean’s dick. Dean ran his hand through Cas’s hair.

“Good,” he breathed, soaking in the warmth of Cas’s hand against the head of his penis. When it was in place, Cas laid back into the mattress, pulling Dean down with him. They kissed as Dean lined himself up to Cas’s loosened hole. He always prided himself with his self control, but tonight he was hitting his limit because as soon as Cas’s tightness captured his head, Dean had to grapple with the shreds of his sanity not to shove in all at once.

Instead he dug his fingers into Castiel’s hips and nipped at Cas’s jaw. Cas, obviously more ready than Dean gave him credit for, shoved his hips forward with a toothy grin. Stars exploded in his vision.

“You _fucker_ ,” Dean gasped, thrusting sharply in revenge. Cas arched his back in response, his breathy laugh turning into a rumbling moan. Dean rested his arm across Cas’s stomach, pinning him down as he used his other hand to jerk Cas off hard and fast. Cas’s hands pulled at the pillow under his head, his mouth open and wanting.

Dean stopped again just as Cas’s hips began to attempt to throw Dean off.

Cas glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean teased, kissing the corner of his frown. “You’ll get your turn. Promise.” He thrust forward on the last word, because dammit he _had_ to. Cas hummed under his lips and then there was nothing but groaning and choked breaths and a sharp elevation. Dean knew he was getting close and slowed down. He reached between them to take Cas in his hand again. Soon Cas was right back at the edge. He saw the pleading in Cas’s eyes. Dean was almost tempted to deny it just to see how long it would take for the man to break the silence rule, but he knew that _he_ wouldn’t be able to last that long—buried in the man’s ass as Cas was spasming around him. And he wanted Cas to finish first.

Cas was holding himself back, waiting for Dean’s permission. It was, simply put, _awesome_.

“Castiel,” he grinned, red faced from his own restraint. “ _Cum_.”

Cas threw his head back, his fingers making bruises on Dean’s shoulders. He gasped and shuddered through his release, spurting over Dean’s hands. Dean didn’t give him a second’s rest, because he was letting go of Cas’s dick and slamming into him almost as soon as the spasming stopped.

“Cas, _yes_. Oh god,” he grunted, mouthing Cas’s neck. Cas didn’t miss a beat. He raked his fingers down Dean’s spine and lifted his hips on every other thrust. “ _Fuck_.” Cas moved to capture Dean’s mouth. Cas’s hands, the ones that had broken the very bones under them, were gentle on his cheeks and Dean couldn’t take it. He let go with a yell, burying himself in Cas’s body.

He remained on shaking arms for another couple of breaths before pulling out. He removed the spent condom, tied the end, and dropped it onto the floor. He reached for his shirt and began wiping off the mess on his hands and on Cas’s belly. Cas was looking at the ceiling, looking stoned or like he just had the fuck of his life. Dean let himself be proud about that before he tossed the sullied shirt to the corner and laid down to stare at the ceiling as well. Fuck, that was _really_ good.  

“Can I talk now?” Cas asked. Dean chuckled.

“Sure.”

Cas let out a loud sigh. “That was really good.”

Dean rolled onto his side to watch Cas. The man smiled lightly and moved to gather Dean in his arms. Dean stiffened at first, because seriously _he_ was the one who whacked the bejeezus out of the guy. But then Cas started to hum in contentment, and Dean brought his hands up to gingerly run down Cas’s spine. He could feel the heat from the welts, but Cas didn’t seem bothered by Dean’s touch.

“Want me to get some aloe for these?” Dean asked, quietly. “You were a champ, but it can’t be comfortable.”

“Hmm,” Cas tugged on the hair at the top of Dean’s head lightly. “They feel alright at the moment. Maybe in the morning. Are you okay?”

Dean thought about that. There were so many reasons why he shouldn’t be feeling okay about the situation. So many lines that he had crossed purposefully. But he didn’t let the monster out when he was hitting Cas. He hadn’t gotten close. And maybe that was the important thing, the thing that kept Dean from running in the opposite direction.

“I’m getting there,” he decided. He kissed the center of Castiel’s chest. “Thanks.”

They fell asleep tangled in each other. That morning, Cas placed Dean’s bittersweet and perfectly cooled coffee between his hands. Dean accepted it.

“I love you,” he told Castiel, in case he didn’t catch it the night before. Cas squinted at him.

“I know,” Cas replied. And Dean laughed.  

 


End file.
